Transmigrated Into The True Heiress-Chapter 67: Charming Delinquents

Though their schedules said they had a class, it seemed no one was in the mood to attend. Excitement still lingered in the air from the earlier presentation, and some classmates had already disappeared, likely deciding they deserved a break. Eira and the others exchanged knowing glances before following the growing tide of students streaming out of the classroom, clearly abandoning any pretense of sticking around.

Malia laughed, her voice light and carefree as she flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Come on, lectures are overrated. Life’s too short to waste on sitting around."

Cyran smirked. "Exactly. Let’s consider this... field research. Inspiration for the next masterpiece."

Orla raised an eyebrow at him. "Is that what we’re calling slacking off now? And I don’t think any of us will be doing any art project because tests are next week, and after a week, we will be having our final exam for high school."

"And don’t forget the ball," Malia added but they ignored her.

"Absolutely," Cyran replied, completely unbothered, his grin only widened. "The best art comes from life. Can’t argue with that. And we’re still going to be having an art test and exam, right? freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

Eira walked alongside them, her arms crossed as a faint breeze played with her hair. "If by ’life,’ you mean ’procrastination,’ then sure, Cyran. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

He glanced at her, an exaggeratedly wounded look on his face. "I expected more support from my partner in artistic glory. And in case you forgot... everyone is skipping class. Even you, Ephyra."

Eira rolled her eyes while Malia grinned, "Right? Who would have thought? We’d turn the two best students in our class into rebels," she teased, nudging Eira playfully. "It’s a historic moment. Someone should write this down."

Orla sighed, adjusting the strap of her bag as they walked. "You’re all insufferable. But I suppose one missed class won’t kill us." She cast a sidelong glance at Eira. "Though I’m surprised you of all people are going along with this."

Eira shrugged, her tone nonchalant but her eyes sharp. "Sometimes, breaking the rules is the most logical choice. No point sitting in a classroom if the teacher’s not even there."

Malia clapped her hands together dramatically. "See? Even Ephyra agrees! We’re officially justified."

"Justified or not, I’m not spending this free time lounging around," Orla interjected. "Some of us actually want to pass the finals."

Cyran groaned, throwing an arm over Orla’s shoulders. "Relax, Orla. You’re going to ace everything as usual. But wouldn’t it kill you to loosen up just a little?"

Orla glanced at him, her expression amused. "Look who is talking, a couple of weeks ago, I could say that I loosened up ten times more than you did."

"I’m feeling great, happy." Cyran shot back with a cheeky grin. "Besides, people change."

Orla chuckled, her expression turning unreadable. "I guess."

Malia twirled in front of them, arms stretched out. "Anyway, we’re officially free for the afternoon. Where to, new Cyran?"

Cyran laughed as he tipped his head toward the grove just beyond the school grounds, the corners of his mouth twitching with excitement. "The grove, obviously. Let’s celebrate our field research properly."

Malia linked arms with Eira and started dragging her forward. "Then it’s settled. Off we go to make history as the most charming delinquents this school has ever seen."

As the students from the Silver Class, the second-highest ranked senior year class, filtered out of their classroom and scattered toward various corners of the school grounds, their unusual behavior didn’t go unnoticed. Some students in nearby classrooms glanced up, envious of the unspoken freedom the silver class seemed to have earned. Others watched curiously, whispering among themselves, while a few simply shrugged and returned to their work, uninterested in what others did.

In the fourth senior-year class, Myra sat slouched by the window, one elbow propped against the desk as she chatted on her phone. Her anatomy teacher droned on at the front of the room, completely oblivious to her lack of attention. Myra’s seatmate, Annah, hesitated before turning toward her.

"Myra," Annah whispered, lightly tapping her arm. When Myra ignored her, Annah tapped again, more insistent this time.

Myra shot her an annoyed glance, sighing as she pulled out her earphones. "What is it, Annah?" she asked sharply.

Annah pointed toward the window. "Look outside. The silver class students are skipping their lecture."

Myra frowned, unimpressed. "So? Why should I care what they’re doing?"

Annah hesitated but pressed on, her voice low. "I heard they just submitted an art project. Ephyra’s piece came in first place."

Myra’s expression darkened instantly. She turned toward Annah with a scathing look, her voice dropping to a hiss. "That’s what you interrupted me for? To talk about that pathetic excuse for a stepsister? Why the hell would I care if she won some stupid art contest? Ephyra means nothing to me. I don’t care what that insufferable bitch does, Annah. I. Don’t. Care. Get that into your head!"

Annah recoiled, murmuring a meek apology as she shifted away. Myra’s attention returned to her phone, but her anger lingered, simmering beneath the surface. No matter how hard she tried, Ephyra always seemed to find a way to crawl under her skin, whether intentionally or not.

By the time school ended, Myra’s mood had soured further. When she stepped out of the gate and saw Ephyra walking off with her friends, laughing and unbothered, it was as if someone had poured fuel on the fire of her rage. It didn’t help that Alan’s gaze kept drifting toward Ephyra, his expression unreadable but far too focused on the wrong person.

Unable to contain herself any longer, Myra stormed up to Alan, her voice sharp and biting. "If you’re done gawking at my bastard stepsister, maybe you could focus on taking me home?"

Alan snapped his gaze back to her, startled by her outburst. He looked equal parts frustrated and exhausted, but he nodded stiffly. "Let’s go," he said, his tone clipped.

Myra shot one final glare at Ephyra, her eyes blazing with loathing, before spinning on her heel and climbing into the car. Ephyra, as always, didn’t seem to notice—or perhaps she simply didn’t care. That indifference only stoked Myra’s anger further.

Alan slid into the driver’s seat, his jaw tight as he started the car and pulled away. The tension between them hung heavy in the air, but Myra refused to address it, choosing instead to glare out the window as the car sped off.

From the rearview mirror, Alan’s gaze flickered back to the school gate one last time, but Ephyra and her friends were already gone.